---
> "Clark Kent!"
"Alex!"
Their voices overlapped in polite greeting, neither showing much on the surface. Yet beneath that calm veneer, both men were already sizing each other up.
Clark's blue eyes carried their usual warmth, the perfect picture of an easygoing farm boy, but his mind was working fast. He wasn't meeting just any stranger—something about Alex felt off. The way he carried himself, the faint pressure that seemed to radiate from him… it was the kind of presence Clark couldn't quite place.
> "Alex, what brings you to Smallville?"
"Maybe I can help."
His tone was as friendly as ever, the classic Kansas charm.
Alex gave a small smile, seemingly amused.
> "Actually, there is something you can help me with."
That caught Clark's attention immediately.
> "I'm looking to buy a house here in Smallville," Alex continued casually.
"You know any reliable agents you could recommend?"
Clark blinked. Of all the answers he had expected, that wasn't one of them.
> "You're buying a house?"
He kept his tone light, but inwardly, his guard shot up another notch.
> "You're planning to move here?"
Alex chuckled, waving a hand dismissively.
> "No, no. Buying a house is one thing; moving in is another. I just think the air's clean here, the scenery's nice. When life gets stressful, I can come relax."
Clark said nothing, just gave a polite nod. If he hadn't already known Alex had been asking questions about the meteor shower—the one that had brought him to Earth—he might have believed the story.
But now, he was certain: this man hadn't come here by accident.
> "You came to the right person," Clark replied evenly.
"I've lived here all my life. I know a few people who can help."
He made a quick call, setting Alex up with a local real estate agent. The conversation stayed polite, even friendly, but every word was a dance—each man testing the other's composure.
When they finally parted ways, Clark's gaze lingered on Alex's back for a long time. Something told him this stranger would not be leaving Smallville quietly.
---
Within the hour, Alex had purchased a house.
He didn't haggle, didn't even blink at the price. He simply looked around, nodded once, and paid in full. The realtor nearly fainted from joy.
Once the paperwork was done, Alex stood in his new living room, hands in his pockets, surveying the place like a general examining a new battlefield.
It wasn't much—a small farmhouse on the outskirts of town—but it would do perfectly as a temporary base.
From that moment, his goal was clear: collect Kryptonite.
During the day, he kept a low profile, avoiding attention. He explored the outskirts, scanning with his senses, and soon enough, the faint green glow began to accumulate piece by piece.
By sunset, several fragments lay on his table, pulsing faintly with cosmic light.
He could feel it—the raw energy inside each stone, like veins of power running just beneath the surface.
Still, his search for "meteor freaks" was less successful.
He hadn't found another one all day besides Whitney.
But Alex wasn't discouraged. Smallville was small, but secrets like this had a way of revealing themselves eventually.
> "Patience," he murmured, slipping another crystal into his pocket.
"There's plenty of time."
As darkness fell, he vanished into the night, moving silently between the trees.
---
Meanwhile, not far away, music echoed across an open field near Smallville High.
A bonfire party blazed beneath the stars—laughter, dancing, cheap beer, and the wild, golden glow of youth.
It was the kind of night that should've been carefree.
Clark Kent stood apart from it all, half-hidden in shadow, watching from the edge of the light.
He hadn't wanted to come. He never did. But Chloe had practically dragged him here, insisting he needed to "stop brooding" and "just live a little."
He smiled faintly at her enthusiasm but couldn't shake the weight in his chest.
His gaze drifted to the bonfire—and to Lana Lang, laughing with her friends, her hair glowing like honey in the firelight.
> "Clark, come on," Chloe said, walking over, hands on her hips.
"I know that look. You haven't forgotten her, and I doubt she's forgotten you."
Clark sighed.
> "Chloe… Lana's with Whitney now."
> "Whitney's chasing her," Chloe countered sharply.
"Lana just gave him a chance. That doesn't mean she's into him."
Clark smiled sadly.
> "You might be right, but… it's complicated."
It always was. Because he wasn't like the others. He couldn't be.
He couldn't tell Lana who he really was, or what he was capable of.
That secret built walls between them—walls no words could tear down.
---
Then—BOOM!
The music stopped. One of the speakers exploded in a burst of sparks, sending teenagers screaming as the shockwave rippled through the air.
> "What the—?!"
Panic spread fast. People stumbled back from the flames, eyes wide.
And then, from the edge of the darkness, a voice rang out—cold, bitter, and trembling with fury.
> "Having fun, huh?"
A lone figure stepped into the light—a Black teen with a jagged birthmark covering half his face.
The crowd froze.
Everyone knew him.
Once upon a time, he'd been their classmate—a quiet, awkward kid who'd been mercilessly bullied for his appearance. They'd mocked him, humiliated him, broken him until he'd dropped out.
Now, he was back.
And his eyes burned with vengeance.
> "You ugly freak," sneered a tall blond jock, his voice dripping with arrogance.
"Pretty sure I didn't invite you."
The boy's expression didn't change.
> "No one invited me," he said evenly. "I came on my own—to return the favor."
A hush fell.
Even the fire seemed to dim.
> "Oh yeah?" the jock laughed, rolling up his sleeves. "You got a big mouth now, huh? Guess you forgot how this ends."
The others watched uneasily. Everyone knew the pattern. The jock would throw a few punches, the "freak" would fall silent again, and the night would move on.
But not this time.
> "Remind me?" The boy's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Heh… I'm not the same as before."
He raised a hand.
A pulse of energy burst outward—raw, violent, unstoppable.
BOOM!
The shockwave shot toward the jock like a cannon blast—
—only to vanish in an instant.
A blur of motion. A whisper of displaced air.
The jock blinked, confused.
The attacker was gone.
And the crowd stared, wide-eyed, as Clark Kent reappeared at the edge of the field—his hand gripping the boy's shoulder, having snatched him away in less than a heartbeat.
The bonfire crackled behind them, the air still humming with the aftermath of power.
Clark's voice was calm, low, and firm.
> "That's enough."
For the first time that night, the mask of the mild-mannered farm boy slipped—
and the Superman beneath it began to emerge.
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